I seem to be making a lot of bundt cakes lately. Most of this is related to the ease of portion control for the recipients (because I rarely keep baked goods in the house). But there’s a portion of it that directly relates to the pan being my grandmother’s. It’s certainly not the oldest and very likely purchased after I was born. But it was one of the things my mother gave me in her zeal to get rid of the three extra kitchens worth of supplies she had stored up. Upon hearing of my elopement to The Big Guy, her second reaction (after OMG do I know him?) was “Let’s go shopping in the basement!” « Read the rest of this entry »

As a general rule, The Big Guy and I don’t eat fresh fruit in the winter. One of the difficulties that comes with educating our palates with locally grown, organic food, is that we’ve become horribly picky. We fully realize that most fruit has to travel too far to get to us, especially during the winter months, but we should really be honest here. Melons in Michigan in February taste foul, almost spoiled. And let’s not go into the red styrofoam strawberries, shall we?

When the first of the locally grown hothouse rhubarb starts appearing at the market, I’ll admit to a certain amount of fruit-based desperation. We’ve been without anything but keeping apples for so long that we jump on the opportunity to include something different in our diet that hasn’t been frozen to survive storage. Rhubarb definitely fits that bill. « Read the rest of this entry »